“Long Fist,” the woman replied.

“What in Hull’s name is Long Fist?”

“You will learn that when you meet him.”

So the Urghul weren’t planning to sacrifice them right away. Of course, there was no telling how far west they planned to ride. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Is that where the rest of the taamu are going?” Valyn asked. “West? To meet Long Fist?”

“Too many questions,” Huutsuu said, waving a hand at three of the younger Urghul. “Take them. Put them with the other one. Watch them close. They are a soft people, but fast.”

“The other one?” Valyn demanded, shaking his head, trying to make sense of it. “Who’s the other one?”

Huutsuu smiled. “Go. See.”

The Annurian prisoner was tied up a dozen paces beyond the last row of api. The Urghul had bound his hands to his feet, forcing him into a hunched crouch. It wouldn’t have been horrible at first, but a day, even half a day bent double like that would be enough to crack most men and women. Worse, despite the chill drizzle, they’d stripped him of his shirt. The man clearly hadn’t eaten anything in days. Valyn could count the knobs of his spine, the ribs, could count the seeping gashes in his skin where he’d been whipped. The prisoner didn’t look up as the horses approached. He could have been knocked out. Maybe he thought there was nothing to see.

“Who is it?” Valyn demanded, turning to the young rider, the taabe, who guarded him.

“Warrior,” the taabe sneered. “Great warrior. Like you.”

The other Urghul laughed.

“When we get out of here,” Laith said, shaking his head, “when we get a bird, I am coming back, and I am going to kill every one of these miserable bastards.”

“Might take a long time,” Valyn said, glancing over his shoulder. “There are millions.”

“I’ll help him,” Gwenna growled.

“Me, too,” the prisoner said, without bothering to raise his head. “I bet we’d make a good team.”

Valyn froze, chill rain trickling down the back of his neck, making him shiver. The man’s voice was hollow, weak, but there was something there. . . . He took a step back, looking for space, ignoring the sharp spearpoint pressing against his back.

“So you lived after all,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Balendin Ainhoa raised his head. A massive bruise purpled the side of his face, half closing one eye. His upper lip was split, and, high on his shoulder, a mirror of Valyn’s own wound, the half-healed scar left by Kaden’s crossbow bolt leaked pus and blood. If the leach was bothered by his injuries, however, he didn’t show it. “Of course I lived. What did Hendran say? If you haven’t seen the body, don’t count the kill.”